


Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

by Gloomier



Series: Heart and Soul [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Brief Company Appearances, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, OC Dwarf - Freeform, Or Is It?, Other, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-18 02:09:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16986141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gloomier/pseuds/Gloomier
Summary: Following the events of the battle, Bilbo is left drifting in a void of uncertainty. With its restoration, Erebor may finally be on its way to becoming the gem of the dwarves once more, but Bilbo is paying for it with loneliness. The one thing Bilbo knows for sure is that a new start might give him some perspective. Whether or not that new perspective lays in a house much too big for him—well, only time will tell.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teaDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaDragon/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the lovely teaDragon! It was a pleasure to fulfill this assignment. Have a happy hobbit holiday!

There were many things through the years that disgruntled Bilbo, like that one year when he was much younger, barely fifteen, and he had gotten horribly sick after eating cheese. He almost had sworn it off for good, but it ended up just being a stomach bug and not the cheese itself. Then there was that time when he was twenty-something, he had been running through a field to get to the Hobbiton fair and nearly broke his foot in two after he stepped in a hole. And of course, the time he had run off with thirteen dwarves on a completely suicidal quest, not even mentioning the fact that he had fainted with just some vivid imagery of his possible deaths.

Honestly, the last thing didn’t really bother Bilbo so much these days, everything considered. What rubbed Bilbo the wrong way was the seemingly, ever-growing void in his social life.

Now Bilbo would never begrudge his dwarves getting swept up in their own lives, reinvigorated as they’d all been after surviving that first harsh winter in a reclaimed kingdom. But these days his life felt as empty as it was when he lived in Bag End alone. Bilbo was far more used to having tea with the occasional member of the family once or twice a week. The company tried to have at least one dinner together per month if they could all be pulled away from whatever they were busy with at the time. Unfortunately, most times the entire company could not attend, and those times where some of the company could make it, more often than not, Their Majesties Thorin and Dwalin could not attend.

He loved Erebor, as much as the dwarves that invaded his home those few years ago, which was three to be exact, so he needed to find more reasons to stay beyond just his new family.

Bilbo was now a Lord of Erebor technically, a dwarf lord as some in the company have joked. Being a dwarf-friend and a well-respected part of Thorin’s company afforded Bilbo privileges that befitted his station, such as being allowed to purchase land around the mountain, buying a house within the mountain (without having to go through all the bureaucratic tosh) and being allowed to learn the more well-kept dwarvish secrets such as khuzdul—just to name a few.

Which was why Bilbo was here in some building with Glóin, to finalize the purchase of a very big and very empty house for himself. Naturally, it had been all his fault since he didn’t know when to shut his big fat mouth. How he had even gotten on the topic of buying a house, he barely remembered, but he had been out drinking with Óin and Glóin one night, and Bilbo had a very, very bad case of loose lips while inebriated. Bilbo knew it had been brought on by his complaints of being lonely.

The ensuing outings with Óin and Glóin had him spilling his thoughts about being given too much gold, and something else regarding Thorin and Dwalin that Bilbo didn’t really understand. Clearly, it had everything to do what his stupid drunken self revealed that night at the Ragged Flagon.

(Ultimately, Bilbo still blamed the dwarves for insisting that he needed his fair share of the gold in the first place. He was perfectly content letting Bard have it.)

“Is it too late to back out?” Bilbo hissed at Glóin as the clerk who had been helping them got up and walked off for something. He was beginning to have serious doubts about what he was about to do.

Glóin leveled him with an unimpressed look. “Aye. Too late to be having second thoughts, lad.”

Bilbo fidgeted in his chair. He would be the proud owner of two estates in two different kingdoms. _Goodie._ How he had let Óin and Glóin convince him that striking out on his own would fix his problems, he would never know. It had obviously been a bad idea to ask the dwarves to help him manage his new funds.

“Alright, everything seems to be in order,” the clerk said when they returned, another parchment in their hands. “I’ll need you to sign here… and here.”

Quill in hand, Bilbo signed his name where the clerk specified on the documents as they began heating a dark blue block of wax over a lit candle.

“We’ll also need you to stamp both documents with your seal,” The clerk added, looking at Bilbo expectantly.

Bilbo floundered for a second, looking to Glóin for help but the dwarf had already pulled a ring out from somewhere. He handed it off to Bilbo with a wink. Bilbo took it from the dwarf, and as he turned it about to inspect it he found that the ring was surprisingly light. It was silver, almost as pale as the moon, with an outline of an acorn and two oak leaves engraved on its flat top; tiny emeralds were set in the band. His seal apparently.

The clerk dripped a wax pool on each document beneath Bilbo’s signature and with each stamp of his seal, Bilbo became the new owner of one very large and empty house in a very wealthy district.

*

The Week Before

*

If you weren’t a dwarf, living under a mountain was difficult. Adjustments to one’s lifestyle had to be made to accommodate the change in living arrangements. One of the adjustments Bilbo had to make to ensure he woke up in time for first breakfast was a clock. There were no windows to help him discern the time—such as having the sun peek in and glare at him until he had enough and got out of bed.

The clock was a beautiful piece of course; it had been a gift from Bifur, who not only dabbled in crafting toys for children but was also a master clockmaker. Bilbo, who was still half asleep in his warm and comfortable bed, listened to the soft ticking of his clock. When it chimed its cheery tune he stubbornly burrowed deeper into his den of warm blankets and furs, far too comfortable to want to leave.

When the song ended, the clock chimed seven times to indicate the hour of the day. After the seventh note, and right on time, faint noise could be heard in another part of his abode. That was breakfast.

Bilbo weighed his want to stay in bed for a little longer over his need to get up and eat, but the way his stomach gurgled at him made his decision for him. The war between comfort and food was always a tough battle to fight, but in the end, food won out. He could have probably waited for second breakfast, but it was the thought that someone had been kind enough to fix him something to eat and have it brought to him that really pushed him out of bed. It had taken Bombur, Balin, _and_ Thorin to get Bilbo to understand that they had servants and this was what they were paid to do. If Bilbo knew over three years ago he would be waited on hand and foot by a servant, he would have laughed very unkindly in a few dwarven faces.

By the time Bilbo rolled out of bed, pulled on his patched robe, and made his way out into the parlor there was no one but him in his chambers. In the servant's wake, a veritable feast lay covered with silver domes across his table—the tea was certainly whispering his name.

No hobbit was truly awake or dared to entertain guests or do work of any kind until first breakfast was had, but he would probably make an exception for one of his dwarves.

When he finished eating through the lovely feast Bilbo decided that it was time to get ready for the day. While he completed his morning routine, he considered the things he had to do today.

He had promised Ori that he would help with adding the finishing touches to the chronicle of their journey. Then there was lunch to prepare for; he had finally managed to corner Thorin and request that he and Dwalin join him for lunch. It wasn’t easy to catch a king when you considered how busy a king actually was, not to mention his husband. Bilbo was eager to spend time with them since they, out of the entire company, were the busiest—or so he told himself that was the reason. He had no plans beyond those two tasks, perhaps he would visit the market and window shop.

The clock started chiming again just as Bilbo slipped on his jacket.

“Right on time,” Bilbo said as he walked through the parlor. As he passed the table, he made sure to grab a few of the remaining scones; he would probably miss second breakfast while helping Ori.

Upon exiting his quarters there was a dwarf leaning patiently against the wall opposite of his door and he recognized them immediately. Bilbo sighed and his posture slumped.

“What is it, Alf?” Bilbo asked, not bothering to hide the mild irritation coloring his tone.

Alf was Thorin’s page, the one that the king sent every time he had to let Bilbo know that he had to cancel their plans. Bilbo had nothing against Alf, but he was beginning to dislike their presence for the sheer fact of the news they brought with them.

The page fidgeted, obviously sensing Bilbo’s sudden shift in mood. “My Lord Baggins, Their Majesties regret to inform you that they will be unable to join you for lunch. They send their deepest regrets, but they are having troubles with the Ironfist delegation and cannot make the time.”

_Of course._

Bilbo couldn’t really remember the last time he had a full conversation with either of Thorin or Dwalin, let alone spoke more than three sentences to the illusive dwarves. It was a huge disappointment considering how little he saw of the entire company these days.

“Is that all?” Bilbo asked brusquely.

“A-ah yes, Lord Baggins!” Alf replied as he dropped into a low and respectful bow, then quickly departed leaving Bilbo alone in the corridor.

Bilbo should have seen it coming, especially after he had planned out a wonderful lunch. Perhaps he would see if anyone would like to have dinner with him. It would be nice if he could cajole a few of the company to spend time with him; he would see to it after helping Ori.

He continued to stew in his thoughts as he made his way to the great library, even eating the snacks he brought along out of annoyance along the way.

Ori was there to greet Bilbo as soon as he crossed the library’s threshold.

“Good morning Bilbo!”

“Good morning,” Bilbo replied, doing his best to not look like he wanted to go straight back to bed.

It seemed Bilbo didn’t have to worry too hard hiding how upset he was, Ori seemed to be bursting with energy and paid very little attention to Bilbo’s expression.

“I can’t believe it’s finally happening! A year and a half of work and preparation and we’re finally ready to share it with the world!” Ori babbled excitedly, leading Bilbo to the workroom they had been using for their project.

The dwarf’s exuberance managed to pull a small, but very pleased, smile across Bilbo’s lips. “It’s hard to think that three years ago this all might not have been possible. You put a lot of hard work into this, so it’s not hard to believe is happening.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Ori lightly admonished him as he pushed open the door. “Without your additions and suggestions, it wouldn’t have been half as good.”

Ori walked over to the table the book was sitting on. Bilbo could see that the scribe had in fact chosen to use the red leather to cover the company’s edition of the book. _It really was a good choice,_ Bilbo thought as approached the worktable to inspect the book in question. Ori also seemed to have decided on a title. The words _An Unexpected Journey_ was embossed in gold on the front, with a little golden dragon curling around Erebor just beneath them.

“Which is absolutely untrue,” Bilbo scolded gently as he stared at the book. “You are an accomplished scribe who is amazing at their craft. I’m just a hobbit who dabbles in writing from time to time.”

Ori frowned at him. “You’re more than just a hobbit, and your writing is very good.”

Bilbo's smile widened. He really did appreciate Ori.

“The book looks finished, did you need any help?” Bilbo asked in an attempt to shift the conversation.

“Ah, no. I worked through the afternoon and most of the night to get this done. As a surprise,” Ori confessed shyly.

Bilbo was left a bit dumbfounded. Before he had left for the afternoon yesterday, the book had not yet been covered and bound, and there was still a good chunk of the story left to write after Bilbo suggested some minor edits to the story. It was a shame because Bilbo dearly wanted to suggest another set of edits to the fight of Azog. It was likely for the best, he wasn’t sure Thorin and Dwalin would appreciate being written in as being killed, and Ori wouldn’t appreciate such a gross mistelling of the journey he so meticulously wrote down as the events passed.

“Is there something wrong?” Ori questioned, shooting Bilbo a strange look.

He was frowning, Bilbo supposed. He quickly replaced it with a smile and prayed to the green hills that Ori would leave it be—he had no intentions of speaking about his issues.

“Oh, not at all. I was just wondering if you let yourself take a break. This obviously took hours to finish.” Bilbo said.

The scribe considered Bilbo’s words for a brief moment before his frown morphed back into his excited grin. “Don’t worry, I managed to get decent sleep after I finished binding the book.”

Awkwardness evaded.

“Well it’s excellent work, and I am thrilled to see months of hard work come to fruition,” Bilbo said, eyes falling to the book again. Soon everyone would have the true accounting of the quest and not just tall tales spread through the market or taverns.

“It was a labor of love, and soon the first books will be available for Erebor,” Ori gushed. “But our volume of the tale is still missing something.”

Ori reached over to an inkwell and slid it over to Bilbo as he plucked a quill out of a little holder, holding it out to Bilbo.

“It’s missing your signature,” Ori stated. With utmost care, the scribe opened the front cover of the book. Upon the page, written in Ori’s neat script was the words ‘An Unexpected Journey written by Ori, son of Bori’.

Bilbo took the quill tentatively and Ori shuffled over to the side of the work table to give Bilbo room, and Bilbo shifted over in turn. He eyed the blank space beneath Ori’s signature, then uncapped the inkwell and dipped the nub of the quill into the black ink. He bent over the book, placed his hand over the cover of the book to hold it down—careful not to put too much pressure on it—and began signing his name. It reminded him of those few years ago when he signed Thorin’s contract, but this time it was different—it was closure. Their story was now history, something Bilbo never thought an ordinary hobbit would ever be a part of.

When Bilbo finished he straightened up and looked at Ori, their watery smiles mirroring each other.

Bilbo laid the quill on the work table and offered the dwarf a hand. “I’m glad it’s finally done.”

Ori looked at the hand in confusion before taking it. Bilbo shook it twice and released the dwarf's hand, understanding passed over the scribe’s face.

“Me as well,” Ori sighed contentedly.

“Well I wasn’t expecting to be done so soon,” Bilbo said conversationally. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in having dinner with me this evening? Maybe with some of the others?” he added.

Ori winced. Bilbo knew, as soon as Ori’s expression crumpled from happiness to apologetic that he was going to decline.

“I wish I could, Bilbo, but I have to help Dori with something tonight,” Ori said regretfully.

Bilbo smiled at the scribe kindly. “That’s okay, I understand. If there’s nothing else, I think I’m going to head over to the market.”

He let his hand slip from the book—Ori’s hand taking its place, not wanting the cover to mess up the drying ink—and moved toward the door. He thought that maybe he could flag down a raven and see if any of the others were available.

Bilbo barely caught the end of Ori wishing him a good day as he left.

*

Ori declining Bilbo’s invitation to dinner ended up being the first of many. Bilbo hunted down each dwarf, though a couple could only be reached with a raven, and by the time lunch rolled around every single one of his companions had politely declined the dinner invitation.

So distraught by the turn of events, Bilbo continued on with the day’s plans all while trying desperately not to sink to darker thoughts. Rationally Bilbo knew his friends were busy, it was to be expected, and it was rude of him to expect them to drop everything for him. So he turned to his primary vice—shopping.

The market was bustling. Dwarves, men, and even elves mingled, ducking into shops and perusing the wares laid out on carts. It was organized chaos, but at least Bilbo didn’t have to worry about being stepped on by the bigger folk, he was only a little bit shorter than the average dwarf. A constant stream of wares and edible goods entered the mountain every couple days, and that wasn’t even counting the goods Erebor alone produced.

The first order of business for Bilbo was to head over to his favorite tea shop and stock back up on his favorite teas. Bilbo would be quite the liar if said the recent bout of loneliness he felt wasn’t decimating his tea stores. There was a special blend of chamomile from further East that did his nerves some good. Another favorite was the fruity blend from down south that went perfectly with brunch.

Before Bilbo knew it he was buying flour and other things for his larder, and then it was cloth and thread for some new projects, and whatever else caught his fancy. By the time he was finished, he had too much to carry back to his quarters. It was practically dinner time by then. The great bell of Erebor rung eight times to confirm it, and Bilbo’s stomach gurgled angrily. He was inadvertently reminded that he would be eating alone. With some help from some eager guardsmen, Bilbo had all his purchases sent up to the palace.

Bilbo sighed in dismay. He didn’t wish to return and eat by himself. He didn’t wish to be cornered by Dís in the dinner-hall and spill his guts to the cunning princess. Instead of returning to his quarters Bilbo walked over to the Ragged Flagon Tavern.

The tavern was one of the finer ones in Erebor. It served food and drink long into the wee hours, and both were fantastic. If he remembered correctly, it had been one of the members of the company that backed the tavern owner and helped them get started during the initial rebuilding.

As Bilbo entered the Ragged Flagon, he was blasted with the scent of good food and the sound of merriment. Being around a bunch of happy dwarves, for the moment, seemed to salve his hurts.

“Oi! Bilbo!” Someone shouted.

Bilbo swiveled his head around as the same person shouted his name again. “Bilbo! Over here, lad!”

Far to his left, sitting at a table against the wall, was Glóin and Óin. Glóin waved him over.

“Fancy seeing you here!” Óin greeted Bilbo as he plopped down in one of the available chairs.

“Agreed,” Bilbo replied. “I thought you both were busy for the evening.” That was what their replies had said anyhow.

“Aye, was supposed to be, but Súna ended up working late, and Gimli is off doing who-knows-what with Fíli and Kíli. Decided to make the peons finish the paperwork.” Glóin explained and brought his tankard to his mouth. The dwarf looked a little pained mentioning his wife. What a sap.

“And then this one came and harassed me until I agreed to go drinking with him,” Óin grumbled, elbowing his younger brother in the ribs. Ale spilled down the front of Glóin’s tunic as Óin elbowed him.

“You arse,” Glóin growled.

Bilbo snickered at them. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but the unexpected company was definitely more than welcomed.

“I take it no one ended up having supper with you?” Óin asked as he made a gesture the barkeep.

Óin’s bluntness caught Bilbo off guard, and Bilbo hadn’t gotten his drink yet to hide from the question. Instead of answering the question, Bilbo reached across the table and stole Óin’s ale. As Bilbo chugged his stolen drink the brothers shared a look, and Bilbo was none the wiser.

“Taking that to mean no, then.” Glóin surmised. “I hope you don’t mind eating here with us then.”

“I was planning to eat here anyway. It's good to have some company,” Bilbo glumly replied and placed the empty tankard back on the table.

Later, tomorrow probably, Bilbo would bake the brothers their favorite sweets as a thank you for tonight. Before Bilbo could contemplate the day and his woes, a barmaid came around to their table with bowls of steaming lamb stew, a few loaves of warm bread, and another round of drinks.

Bilbo wasted no time tearing one of the loaves of bread apart and dipping the pieces into his bowl. The stew and ale went a long way towards loosening Bilbo up. Normally he would have eaten through two more bowls of stew, but the need to get completely smashed was very high. He guzzled down his ale like a hobbit dying of thirst, and Óin and Glóin both had to defend their own tankards from Bilbo. He was quite displeased. When the barmaid came around again, Glóin requested another few rounds to keep Bilbo content.

With each cup of ale that filled his belly, Bilbo got that much drunker. The fact of the matter was, Bilbo had loose lips when thoroughly sussed. It was news to both Óin and Glóin. The brows of both dwarves climbed as Bilbo aired his grievances to them.

“I’ve tried my best fitting in my—this mountain of yours,” Bilbo slurred. “But I can’t help but think that maybe it’s time to go back to the Shire.”

Óin was about to protest, but Bilbo wasn’t paying them a lick of attention.

“Ori is the only one that I’ve had more than a five-minute conversation with, but even he was too busy to spend time with me outside of our work.”

Though Bilbo didn’t outright say it, both dwarves easily read between the lines: _“no one cares about me.”_

Glóin arched a brow at Óin who looked mighty disgruntled.

Óin sighed. “Listen, Bilbo. Glóin, myself and the rest of the lads aren’t avoiding you on purpose. We care about you, lad.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t care about me,” Bilbo moped.

“No, but I can read between the lines.” Óin scolded. “We’ve all been busy and you’re no dwarf; you have no craft. You aren't expected to restore or even rule the mountain.”

Bilbo laid his arms on the table and buried his head in them, mumbling. The noise of the tavern nearly drowned out what Bilbo was trying to say, but the brothers managed to catch it.

_“Their Majesties don’t care.”_

Óin ran a hand down his face and dug his fingers into his tired eyes, and then nudged Glóin out of his chair.

If Bilbo hadn't been so drunk, he might have noticed Óin and Glóin planning something in furious whispers.


	2. Chapter 2

Living his entire life in the Shire, Bilbo had an expectation of what houses should have looked like. The men in Bree had houses that were not built in hills, but that was a given; men were not hobbits. Bilbo could not quite find the words to express what he thought of his new house.

The house in question was not made of wood like the homes of men, and it certainly wasn’t built into a hill like a smial. It was made of stone, carved from the mountain itself. It was also massive _._ Looking at it from the outside, the building had two levels—the base level and then an upper level. Its walls were of the same green stone the made up the rest of the interior of the mountain. The windows cut into the rock were filled with panes of glass; dark curtains shielded the inside of the house.

“Let’s go take a look inside, shall we?” Glóin said as he clapped Bilbo on the shoulder.

Óin rummaged through his pockets and pulled free a key ring, holding it out to Bilbo. He took the ring from Óin and inspected the keys. They were nearly similar to the key Gandalf had given Thorin the night of the unexpected party over three and a half years ago.

“I suppose I ought to, now that I own it,” Bilbo grumbled.

For a brief moment, Bilbo was expecting the door to his new home to be hidden, much like the one they used to get into Erebor the first time. He had seen plenty of doors in Erebor at this point. Some were made of stone, there were many that were made of wood, and of course, there were a few made of metal. His door was (thankfully) made of wood, and darkly stained and banded with iron. It was big and fit snugly into the archway of the doorway.

Bilbo approached the door, Óin and Glóin followed behind. Taking one of the keys between his fingers, Bilbo unlocked the door. For as big as the door was the tumblers of the lock gave way without any resistance. He twisted the doorknob and pressed into the house.

“It’s pitch black in here,” Bilbo pointed out dumbly as he stepped into the darkness of the house.

There was a scratching noise and then a light flickered behind Bilbo.

“Here you go!” Glóin said as he passed up the lit torch to Bilbo. “You’ve no one to tend to such things yet, so this will be fine for now.”

“I don’t even know how to go about finding people for this,” Bilbo pointed out and stepped further into the blackness and the torch lit up the empty foyer. “And I suppose I have to buy all the furnishing as well.”

“There are a couple places that sell all that you need. As for seeking help, the best place to look is in a tavern—oof!” Glóin started to say until he was interrupted.

He supposed Glóin had a point. The servants in the palace always had his hearth lit and stoked when he wasn’t in his quarters. They also made sure all the candles and sconces were lit in the parlor and kitchen as well.

“Don’t listen to this fool,” Óin growled. “Erebor has an office for employment that citizens submit their names and skills to. You’ll be able to find domestic staff easy enough. Although it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get a handful of guards as well.”

“And taverns _are_ a good place to find guards!” Glóin argued petulantly.

Bilbo rolled his eyes and walked further into the house, leaving Óin and Glóin to snip at each other. Exiting the foyer Bilbo entered a big room, or what he assumed to be a big room. It was difficult to see as the torch didn’t completely light it up. As he moved, new areas were revealed in his sphere of light. He came upon a wide staircase that went upwards to the second floor. Bilbo ignored it for the time being.

He walked to his right until he came upon a wall. The interior walls, and even the floor, he noticed, were not the same color as the green walls on the exterior of the house. Instead, they seemed to be white stone with thick streaks of greys and blacks through it. As he walked the perimeter of the wall, several dark-stained wooden doors were revealed. Without really knowing where he was going Bilbo picked one.

In the dark, the house seemed to be a complete maze. A cold, unfamiliar, empty maze. It made him wish that he had gone back to the Shire. Bilbo missed the warmth and familiarity of his longtime home. Perhaps in time, his new house could fill the void as he makes new memories and it becomes part of him.

As he explored the lower floor, Bilbo found many empty rooms that he couldn’t begin to figure out what to do with. Although he was able to identify what seemed to be the kitchen if the big oven, the sink, and the big pantry were any indication. It was twice the size of the kitchen in Bag End. Bilbo wasn’t quite sure what he would need all the space for. One of the doors in the kitchen seemed to lead down into a cellar. Whether it was for cold food storage, or otherwise, Bilbo decided to wait until he had more than torchlight to find his way down.

Eventually, he returned to the room with the big staircase where he found Óin and Glóin waiting for him.

“Well? What do you think?” Glóin asked optimistically.

What did he think? Well, Bilbo really wasn’t sure. There was so much space to fill with new stuff, not the stuff he loved and missed. He would also essentially be living here by himself, even if he hired staff and guards. He wouldn’t have his friends, the people he actually cared about, living with him. He would be further away from them, including the two dwarves he wished he were closer to.

“It’s fine,” Bilbo replied tartly.

“Just fine?” Glóin harrumphed.

“From what I saw of it, it’s a lovely house. It’s just…” Bilbo trailed off, trying to find the most polite way to express his feelings.

“It’s what?”

Bilbo slumped. “It’s just overwhelming.”

*

After the initial but incomplete tour of his new house, Glóin helped him get the ball rolling with bedroom and kitchen furnishings. There was also some concern about getting water to his house, but Glóin had assured him that his house would get water in the same way the palace did. For the time being, until other things for his house could be made, Bilbo would have a comfortable bed, a well stocked and functioning kitchen, and plumbing. He could ask no more than that.

Since he would be moving out of the palace, Bilbo didn’t think it would be appropriate to ask the palace staff or guards to help him. Óin, however, had no issues with using his own privileges to help Bilbo get his things moved, even when Bilbo protested. He was grateful considering all the things he had to move, such as his entire pantry; doing it by himself was not ideal.

Bilbo wondered if his friends would have helped him move, or if they would try to stop him. _T_ _hey would all have to make time to even see me in the first place,_ he thought sourly. Maybe they would discover him gone days later and feel bad that they drove him out.

He sighed and went back to packing and ignoring his darker thoughts. This wasn’t anyone’s fault, and his friends didn’t deserve to be thought of so terribly.

Bilbo carefully wrapped the delicate crystal dragon and dwarf figurines Dori had gifted him for his birthday two years ago, placing them into one of the smaller crates. Dwarves were a strange bunch, giving gifts whenever they felt like it whereas hobbits only gave them out during parties. He had warmed up to the dwarvish tradition rather quickly, and he supposed that it was mostly because dwarves were stubborn. But his dwarves really did know how to give gifts.

With the knickknacks in his room finally pack away, Bilbo turned his attention to his study.

He only had enough books to fill a bookcase and a half. Most of them were children’s stories written in Khuzdul, to help him learn the language. The rest of the books were all texts that Ori had either translated for him before he started learning the dwarven tongue, or they were rediscovered elvish texts. All the books he had wouldn’t even fill half a bookcase in his new home, as big as they were. His new study was practically a library!

Bilbo stacked each book-filled crate in the hall.

The stationary and silver fountain pens sitting on his desk, that Thorin and Dwalin had gifted him last year, found their way into a crate next. As he went to put the last pen in the crate and seal it, he stopped.

“You’ll probably won’t see them again,” Bilbo muttered morosely to himself. He turned the pen between his fingers, the pads of them traced the swirling, delicate engravings of leaves, vines, and flowers. They knew his tastes well. “At least not outside of catching a glimpse of them.”

Bilbo placed the pen in the crate, followed by his writings; everything was now packed.

There was little else to do until his things were taken to the house, so he decided to return to the Ragged Flagon and indulge in a few cups of ale and good food for an early supper.

He would receive a list of domestic staff in the morning, so visiting a tavern to listen for anything, or anyone, interesting would go a long way to helping him hire the rest of his staff. He couldn’t exactly hire city guards, so taking Glóin’s advice was all he could really do.

Bilbo picked a table closer to the middle of the room, so he would be surrounded on all sides by people. For supper, he had been served thick slices of tender venison meat between two pieces of bread. The meat had been drizzled in a tangy sauce that Bilbo quite enjoyed. He had even gotten some baked, mixed vegetables which had been a lovely surprise.

As he ate he listened, discreetly, in on some conversations. Dwarves talked about their days, their crafts, projects, politics, how the mountain was doing. Overhearing the topic of Thorin and Dwalin and their hard work being praised made Bilbo puff up with pride. Dwarves came and went, and in the two hours Bilbo was there he polished off supper, finished off two ales and was nursing his third—and still nothing. When Bilbo was ready to leave his ears picked up an interesting conversation.

“Ivor’s still here?” A dwarf sitting behind Bilbo asked loudly.

“Aye, been here ever since the battle.” Another replied. The pair didn’t seem to care if they were overheard or not.

“He was one of Lord Dáin’s personal guard, why’s he still here?” The first dwarf pressed curiously.

There was a pause before the second dwarf replied. “I heard he was discharged for an injury that kept him from doing his duty properly. Marus says he heard that Ivor left as some sort of self-punishment for something he did.”

“What could he have done that was worth punishing—”

“It’s ain’t none of your fuckin’ business!” A third dwarf angrily bellowed from where he sat at the counter in front of Bilbo.

The entire tavern went silent, no one dared to even breathe, not until the angry dwarf at the counter signaled for another drink. The barkeep filled another tankard with ale and slid it over to the dwarf at the count. The room resumed with whatever they had been doing before the outburst when the dwarf, that he assumed to be Ivor, brought the tankard to his mouth. Chairs behind Bilbo hastily scooted around, signaling the departure of the two dwarves that he had eavesdropped on.

He finally found his first guard candidate.

Bilbo mentally listed all the terrible things he had faced during the quest as he chugged the rest of his ale. If he could survive a damn dragon then he could survive a moment’s conversation with an irritated dwarf. His title alone would probably keep him from getting clocked in the face right away. At least he hoped it would.

Bilbo pushed his own chair out and headed toward the counter.

There were other dwarves sitting on stools at the counter as well, and every one of them gave Ivor a wide berth. Bilbo climbed on a stool sitting on Ivor’s left.

Ivor said nothing, didn’t even acknowledge Bilbo’s existence, so Bilbo took a moment to observe him. The dwarf, like many dwarves he’s known and seen thus far, was large (probably as large as Dwalin). The sleeves on his tunic seemed to have been ripped off, putting the thick, muscled arms covered in tattoos on display. His beard was bushy and red, streaks of grey and white mingled in its fire. While many dwarves had waterfalls of braids in their hair and beards, Ivor only had a couple in his beard. His hair was tied back with a leather band in a low ponytail, and his mustache was covered in ale foam.

“Good evening,” Bilbo greeted Ivor, who responded with nothing more than a disinterested grunt. “Right... My name is Bilbo Baggins, and I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation.”

“And what the fuck does it matter to you?” Ivor growled and tilted his head just so to glare at Bilbo.

The sensible part of Bilbo’s mind yelled at him to just walk away, but Bilbo’s pride kept him from doing just that. Bilbo lifted his chin and met Ivor’s glare with his own.

“I am Bilbo Baggins,” Bilbo tried again, but this time he added all the other ridiculous things as well, “The Dragon Riddler, Luck-Wearer, and whatever other titles the Company of Thorin Oakenshield have seen fit to bestow up my humble person.”

“Is that so?” Ivor snorted, clearly unimpressed with Bilbo. “Well aren’t you Mister Fuckin’ Impressive, eh?”

Dwarves had an uncanny ability to drive Bilbo to want to strangle them, and Ivor’s mood, Bilbo discovered, was worse than Thorin’s ever was.

Ivor brought his tankard to his lips again and Bilbo seized the opening.

“If your mother ever managed to smack some manners, she would be rising from the stone to give you a good walloping. The nerve of you dwarves.” Bilbo harshly scolded him, shaking his head in disbelief. “Don’t. You. Dare. I am not done speaking.”

Bilbo waggled his finger at Ivor as he tried to speak. The Valar seemed to take pity on him enough to make the dwarf hold his tongue.

“As far as I can guess, you don’t have work or at least any decent work, and I am looking for some security. You’re a dwarf, and all dwarves seem to be capable in a fight, but I can make an educated guess from what little I heard that you’re better than just capable.”

Ivor squinted at Bilbo, silently studying him. It seemed the dwarf was finally taking him seriously—at least somewhat anyway.

“What exactly are you offering, Master _Dragon Riddler?”_ Ivor finally asked.

“I am offering you fair pay, a roof over your head, good food, and perhaps in time some friends as well,” Bilbo replied.

Ivor didn’t seem convinced that working for Bilbo would be worth it.

“I wanna see the details written out before I make my decision.” He demanded.

Bilbo grinned victoriously.

*

In the week after making his purchase, Bilbo finalized Ivor’s contract along with six others that would be serving as his guard. He also picked ten dwarves for his domestic staff that seemed the best fit.

With the hard parts out of the way, the only real work to be done was getting things to decorate and fill his home with. It was a lot easier to move around furniture, put up tapestries and paintings, and move around stone carvings when you had help. Slowly but surely the home was becoming his.

By week two, the dining room was the first room to be fully furnished (outside of his bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen). Bilbo had requested a wood dining table and a set of chairs to go with. While it wasn’t his dining table from bag end, it was just as beautiful and the quality was impeccable.

It was barely through week three when he received his first house guests.

He had been baking when one of his staff came into the kitchen and announced that he had guests. Bilbo hadn’t been expecting any, he didn’t extend invitations. Glóin and Óin would be visiting in a couple days, however.

When he had gone to see who had come calling he had ended up crushed between two unyielding dwarvish bodies.

“Bilbo!”

“We were worried when no one could find you!”

“You left! Why didn’t you tell us, we would have figured something out!”

Fíli and Kíli talked over each other—very loudly.

“Knock it off, you hooligans! I can’t breathe.” Bilbo shouted as he tried, unsuccessfully, to untangle himself from the brothers. When he pinched the skin of their underarms, they finally took the hint.

“Why did you decide to leave?” Fíli asked when he got free.

“Are you going to come back to the palace?” Kíli added hopefully.

As rowdy as the boys were, Bilbo appreciated their caring and exuberant attitudes. Above all, he really should have expected them to show up first once the dwarves began to realize he had been gone.

Bilbo straightened his clothes and took a step back to give himself some room to look at both of them. They were looking well, and Bilbo was glad to see it.

“No, Kíli, I’m not returning to the palace. And my reasons are my own, Fíli.” Bilbo answered. “Let's talk in the kitchen, I have cookies in the oven and I’d rather them soft and delicious instead of blackened and inedible.”

Fíli and Kíli followed Bilbo as he headed toward the kitchen, but they were still keen on filling in the blanks.

“Did something happen?” Kíli pressed curiously.

“No nothing happened. I just decided to become a more permanent resident of the mountain.” Bilbo explained. Fíli was about to protest but Bilbo shushed him, “Ah ah, no more questions about it.”

Bilbo’s insides fluttered knowing, and seeing for himself, just how worried the brothers were over him moving. The darkness that had blanketed him for a long time seemed to lighten; it was good to know that he wasn’t forgotten.

He plied them with food and learned all he could about what they’d been doing lately while expertly evading their probing questions. Fíli and Kíli carefully skirted around speaking of Thorin; Bilbo was equal parts relieved and sad for it. Before they had left hours later, the brothers promised to visit Bilbo at least once a week.

After Fíli and Kíli’s first visit, the rest of the dwarves started popping up in groups.

Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur all showed up in a similar manner as Fíli and Kíli—concerned and filled to the brim with questions. Along with the questions, the family group had wheeled in a covered object. Under the sheet was a big clock. Bofur had explained that it was something called a grandfather clock and would fit in any room he placed it in. It was a beautiful piece and would be perfect for the parlor, or even the dining room.

The visit ended much the same way as Fíli and Kíli’s, with food, questions about their daily lives, and a promise to visit once a week. Bilbo made sure that it coincided with Fíli and Kíli’s visit.

Dori, Nori, and Ori followed but with Balin in tow. They gave Bilbo two housewarming gifts (Dori’s influence most likely) who accepted them with genuine giddiness.

The first gift was a tapestry that depicted Bilbo in the middle of it and holding the Arkenstone. Below him was the company and towering behind him was Erebor, and sandwiched between him and the mountain was Thorin. The dragon curling around all of them. All the other details astounded him, there were so many (he especially liked the eagles and Beorn). The work clearly took many months to do.

The second gift was one of the first copies of their quest. While it had not been the copy he had signed—which was now sitting in Thorin’s study, according to the scribe—it would be still be treasured because it was a gift from a friend. It would find its place on one of the shelves in his new study.

Bilbo enjoyed hearing about the goings-on in their lives, it felt like old times. He was disappointed that Balin couldn’t offer anything beyond an apology for his brother’s absence.

When it was time for them to part, Bilbo looked forward to the promise of a good dinner next week with most of his friends.

Now that most of the company had come to see him, Bilbo remained optimistic that Thorin and Dwalin would visit him as well. He hardly noticed as the days passed him by. After two weeks and two dinners with eleven happy dwarves, Bilbo had yet to see hide nor hair of Thorin and Dwalin.

The one thing Bilbo appreciated most about the situation was that he didn’t have to deal with Thorin using a page to cancel plans.

*

One busy afternoon reading letters from the Shire and penning his responses, Bilbo’s stomach loudly reminded him that it needed sustenance. Hardly one to ignore his hobbity habits, Bilbo headed for the kitchen and the promise of a good snack.

When Bilbo descended the unnecessarily large staircase, he heard Ivor’s loud, grouchy voice as he snarled from the front entrance of the house.

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re the kings themselves. You’re not coming in.”

Bilbo’s curiosity was getting the better of him, but he couldn’t hear anything that the second party was saying. The foyer and short hallway were situated in a way that prevented Bilbo from seeing the front door until he was lower than halfway down the stairs. Even then, Ivor’s bulk and the half closed door obscured the people standing outside.

Bilbo crept closer, keeping to the guard’s left. He heard a string of annoyed khuzdul and then Ivor’s unimpressed half laugh, half scoff reply. He was almost standing directly next to the guard when he peered out through the open door. Bilbo blinked once, twice, rubbed his eyes and blinked a third time.

“Thorin?” Bilbo spoke up. Ivor stiffened and Thorin, who had been giving the unmoved guard his signature glare, looked at him in surprise.

Bilbo couldn’t see Ivor’s face, but he could imagine the dwarf’s blood draining from his face. The realization that he had been cursing at Thorin Oakenshield made Bilbo giddy with mirth.

The moment of realization for both dwarves swiftly ended. The speed at which Ivor snapped his head to Bilbo made him wince, but the confused shouts and the mortified expression on Ivor’s face would be memorable indeed.

“Bilbo!”

“Thorin?!”

“Bilbo?” An unseen and confused third person asked. They easily took advantage of a distracted Ivor and peeked around the door frame. “Bilbo!”

Bilbo’s stomach filled with butterflies when Dwalin and his toothy grin poked through the open door and paired with Thorin’s happy, lopsided smile. He should have been furious at both dwarves, but seeing them was a relief and a salve to his hurts.

“You may let the kings inside,” Bilbo said as he tried not to laugh at his stern guardsman and his cockup. But he couldn’t blame the poor dwarf too much, Thorin and Dwalin were wearing plain clothes, plain enough that most people wouldn’t recognize them immediately.

Ivor recollected himself and grunted a curt apology as he opened the door wider to let Thorin and Dwalin into the house. The kings shuffled awkwardly into the foyer.

“I should be furious with the both of you,” Bilbo told them, arching an unimpressed eyebrow.

“And you would be right to,” Dwalin murmured, with Thorin adding: “Our treatment of you has been dishonorable and unconscionable.” Both looked quite chastised and repentant. It was good to see that they felt guilty.

Feeling generous, Bilbo let a tiny smile curve his lips. He was just glad to see them; his disappointment could be set on the back burner for the time being.

“Why don’t we continue this discussion in the parlor with refreshments,” Bilbo said and gestured down the hall.

Thorin and Dwalin nodded gravely and followed Bilbo; both were silent as he led them to the parlor. As much as Bilbo wished to look over his shoulder and see what they thought of his house (and all the work he had put into it), he firmly kept his head facing forward.

“Here we are,” Bilbo said as he opened the door. “Give me a moment to see about the refreshments.”

Bilbo didn’t give them the chance to answer before he skittered back out into the hall, closing the door behind him. He leaned back against the door and wilted while his mind and heart raced. He tried to calm down and get his breathing steady; it would do him no favors to faint when he went back into the room. When he felt more or less composed, he sent one of his staff to the kitchen for tea and some of the cookies he had planned to eat as a snack and rejoined his guests.

“Now then,” Bilbo began as he sat in the vacant sofa sitting across from the one Thorin and Dwalin now occupied. “How are you?”

There were many things Bilbo wanted to ask and say, but while he tried to keep himself together he decided to start simple. He would follow where the questions led.

“We’re fine, Master Baggins,” Thorin answered. His face was pinched with discontent.

Dwalin gave his husband a quick reproachful look. “It’s good to see you again, _Bilbo.”_

Bilbo smiled ruefully and his heart felt heavy. He was back to Master Baggins—at least with one of them. “It’s good to see you as well. But you’ll understand my surprise when you decided to turn up now, of all times,” he said pointedly.

And there it was. He couldn’t trust his mind or his mouth to do as he wanted. It has been a serious problem ever since he warmed up to the dwarves. Both Dwalin and Thorin fidgeted like faunts that got caught throwing toads into someone’s bedroom.

“We’re deeply sorry about that. We might be running this shambled kingdom, but it’s no excuse to throw friends to the wayside, especially someone so important as you.” Dwalin explained.

Once upon a time, Bilbo thought Dwalin incapable of more than disinterested grunts and angry growling, but time and experience had proven that the dwarf could be quite expressive with his words.

Bilbo sighed, “Yes well, I hardly appreciated the apologies when our plans were being canceled through a messenger. You can understand how hesitant I feel about it now. It’s been two months since I moved out of the palace.” Perhaps he was being a little too harsh, but he could not keep this hurt close to his chest any longer. Thorin and Dwalin needed to know the truth of his feelings.

“Master Baggins _—Bilbo—_ ” Thorin hesitated, looking forlornly at Bilbo, but was interrupted by the arrival of tea and cookies. The servant placed the tray on the table between them and left as quickly as they came.

“You were saying?” Bilbo asked. He picked up the teapot and poured each of them a cup. Dwalin had already stolen a few of the cookies of the plate. Bilbo couldn’t help but smile fondly, hiding it behind his own teacup as he lifted it to his lips.

“You are not wrong to feel that way. We—I came to offer you an apology for that behavior. You deserved to hear it from me instead of someone I asked to deliver it. It seems that I cannot do anything but hurt you.” Thorin sadly said. His face crumpled beneath his sorrow.

Bilbo’s stomach did a flip at Thorin’s admission. He wished to kiss Thorin’s sadness away, but at the same time, he also felt a pang of annoyance. “If you’re speaking about what I think you are, then I should remind you that we forgave each other all the hurts of the quest, Thorin,” Bilbo remarked quietly and held Thorin’s sad gaze.

Thorin looked away, and Bilbo got his answer. He took another calming sip of his tea; the kitchen staff did well to choose his favorite chamomile blend.

“But that’s not all of it,” Dwalin added gravely as he brushed cookie crumbs out of his mustache and beard. Dwalin reached a hand over to Thorin’s thigh where his hand was resting and enveloped it, giving it a squeeze. “We hurt the one we were trying to court.”

A moment of silence passed, and when the realization hit him he nearly spat out his tea on the dwarves.

“What?” Bilbo said faintly. He set his teacup back down on the table between them, so he didn’t fling it somewhere in his shock.

“We’ve been trying to court you,” Dwalin repeated seriously.

“I know, you said that but what? When? How? Why?” Bilbo babbled in disbelief. His heart was racing again, and this time he felt it in his throat. It felt like he was going to choke on it.

After all this time… It had to be a dream, all of it. The loneliness, the house, the confession. All of it. This was all some sad story he had dreamt up.

Dwalin and Thorin both looked pained, but Dwalin was the one to speak up. “It’s not a dream, Bilbo.”

So frantic as he was, Bilbo hadn’t even realized he’d been speaking out loud; he was on the cusp of hyperventilating. “H-how long?”

“The pens and stationery,” Thorin mumbled.

Bilbo swallowed thickly, “Since last year then?”

When Dwalin winced Bilbo knew this went much, much deeper. “How. Long.”

“Lake Town. The change of clothes you got was from us.” Dwalin added tentatively while Thorin shamefully added: “And then the mithril shirt.”

By the good green hills, dwarves were idiots. He angrily wondered if any of the company realized what these two fools had been doing. The nerve of them to pull this...this… he didn’t even know anymore. He could hardly stay still and he promptly stood up and began to pace long lines across the marble floor.

“In the Shire, interested parties _tell_ the ones they are interested in that they would like to court them!” Bilbo ranted, “Hobbits court with food, flower crowns, walks, and kisses. But you two ridiculous dwarves—” he continued, his volume increased as he went “—didn’t even bother to talk to me!”

Dwalin and Thorin grimaced, but Bilbo wasn’t paying them a lick of attention, so angry as he was.

“We are sorry, Bilbo.” Thorin apologized again.

“You said that already!” Bilbo snarled and abruptly halted his pacing. “If you idiots had bothered to even tell me…”

Bilbo immediately deflated and turned away from them. As much as Dwalin and Thorin infuriated him for the stunts they pulled, he still cared about them. He’d been in a terrible mood for years, and it only continued to grow; it was poison on his tongue he was ready to spit at anyone. And honestly, even if he had known he doubted that anything they would have had together would have been salvageable. In another version of this world, he might have gone back home after such heartbreak.

“You’re both idiots and I wish you had come to me sooner than now,” Bilbo exhaled shakily and squeezed his eyes shut.

One of the dwarves shuffled behind him and then a warm body pressed against him, thick arms curled around his chest locked him in a comfortable embrace. When the tears of frustration refused to be held back any longer a second body joined their little group, sandwiching Bilbo between them.

A gentle hand took hold of his chin and carefully guided it up; its thumb rubbed away the tear tracks on his face.

“Bilbo, look at me,” Thorin pleaded softly.

Bilbo slowly opened his eyes and was met with Thorin’s wretched and wrecked expression, and his tears flowed anew.

“We are idiots who have wronged you, and we don’t deserve this chance. But if you could find a way to forgive us our faults, we would like the chance to court you again. Properly this time.” Thorin said.

Dwalin was silent behind him as he buried his face into Bilbo’s hair, taking deep breaths. He shivered as the dwarf moved to an ear and ran his lips down it from its point. Bilbo stared up at Thorin with hooded eyes. He caught him shooting Dwalin an exasperated and pointed look, but Bilbo couldn’t see the response. A rumbling chuckle reverberated from Dwalin’s chest and into Bilbo’s.

After everything that had happened, and how terrible he felt for so long, he had been given a chance. One that he was not keen to let slip from his fingers.

“You both are idiots.” Bilbo sniffled. His arms, which had been limp at his sides until now, began to move. One hooked itself behind Thorin’s back and the other covered Dwalin’s arms where the dwarf held him fast. “But you’re _my_ idiots.”

Thorin’s smile was worth more than a dragon’s hoard could ever hope to be, and it took Bilbo’s breath away. Thorin’s hand left a trail of fire on his Bilbo’s skin as it traveled the line of his jaw to curl around the nape of his neck. Another shiver shook his body as Dwalin nipped at the lobe of his sensitive ear.

Bilbo longed to have their lips upon his, but he didn’t have to wait as Thorin did just that.

The touch was tentative at first and grew courageous with each second that passed. It became deep and thorough, and steadily turned Bilbo’s brain to mush. His dreams of kissing Thorin were left sorely lacking, and the real thing was dangerously close to turning his legs to jelly. The touch of soft lips and the tickle of a beard against his face was intoxicating.

When they parted, Thorin’s eyes were bright with emotion. Bilbo stared at him shamelessly.

“My turn,” Dwalin said suddenly, interrupting their moment.

Dwalin untangled himself from their little group hug and pulled Bilbo along with him. Dwalin pulled him close, threaded his thick fingers through Bilbo’s hair, and swooped down to press their lips together. The way Dwalin kissed was not at all like how Thorin did. It was fierce but gentle and edged with barely restrained want. Their kiss ended with a few quick pecks and Thorin’s arms wrapping them both up in an embrace. Dwalin looked like the cat that caught the canary.

The three of them had a lot to work out, but for now, squished between their bodies Bilbo felt wanted and loved. Something he had been wishing for years now.

Bilbo supposed he ought to thank Óin and Glóin for putting him through the ordeal of buying a house. Whatever hairbrained scheme they had been running clearly had an endgame.

As his mother once said: “Distance makes the heart grow fonder.”


End file.
